


forever sounds about right

by jeyhawk



Category: American Idol RPF
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-07-01
Updated: 2010-07-01
Packaged: 2017-10-11 18:03:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,877
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/115316
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jeyhawk/pseuds/jeyhawk
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>An encounter in the ER leads to a new beginning for Adam and Kris.</p>
            </blockquote>





	forever sounds about right

**Author's Note:**

> This one's for [](http://neednotwant.livejournal.com/profile)[**neednotwant**](http://neednotwant.livejournal.com/) who suggested _Other: Hospital, caught in a robbery, spooning, exposure/striptease_ in my [Bingo Card Game.](http://jeyhawk.livejournal.com/382886.html) Warning: Contains shameless amounts of schmoop and no sexy times (Kris's rules).

  
Adam is one of those people that always tries to have a positive outlook on life, meeting every setback with a cheerful optimism that drives the people around him insane, sure that it's just another step in the universe's grand plan for him. But over the last few months even Adam has found himself struggling to find that positive spin on things and his current position, ass-up on a hospital gurney, feels a whole lot like rock bottom. What kind of universal plan has a man saved from a robbery only to have him breaking his ass on a broken bottle?

"Holy fucking _hell_. What happened to you?"

Adam twitches at the all too familiar voice, hiding his face into the crook of his arm. Of course Kris Allen is the male nurse in attendance, of course he is. It's becoming apparent that the universe's grand plan for Adam was dreamed up by Kafka.

"Hey." Kris's hand lands on Adam's shoulder and his voice goes soft. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah," Adam says, without looking up. "I'm fine."

"Yeah," Kris's voice takes on a harder edge, one that is all too familiar. "You sure look fine to me."

Adam bites down on his scathing retort and counts backwards from ten in his head. The last thing he wants right now is to get into another argument with the man he's pretty sure is the love of his life. He can hear Kris moving around the room, getting things ready with what Adam is sure is more force than necessary if the clanging and clattering is anything to judge by.

"How many times have I told you to be careful, huh?" Kris asks, setting something down by the bed with another tremendous clang. "What did you do this time? Spit in a homophobe's face? Wave the Pride flag at a raging conservative? Jump into an argument head first like the stubborn fool that you are?"

Adam clenches his jaw. "Someone tried to rob me, okay? He waved a fucking gun in my face and when someone tried to stop him he pushed me over and I landed on a broken bottle. Happy?"

There's a brief pause in the clanging and then Kris's hand lands on his shoulder again. "Of course I'm not happy," he says softly. "Did you talk to the police?"

"Yeah," Adam says, settling his face further into the crook of his arm. "I did."

Kris touches his hair for a brief moment, raising goose bumps all over Adam's back, then he pulls up a chair to the table (Adam can hear it squeak across the linoleum) and settles in to work.

"Can you feel this?" he asks.

"No," Adam responds, most of his ass is completely numb thanks to the local anesthetic the doctor administered before calling for a nurse.

"Good."

Kris turns on a light and even with his eyes shielded by his arm Adam can tell it's _bright._ It's probably the huge magnifying glass Adam noticed earlier and isn't that a comforting thought. Not only is Kris going to poke his ass, he's going to do so while looking through a magnifying glass that probably lets him see every tiny imperfection of Adam's skin. _Awesome._

Kris works in silence, Adam can only feel it as weird dissonant tugs in his general ass area, with the occasional clang that means Kris has removed a piece of glass. Every now and then Kris will pour something cold over the wounds and Adam twitches every time it runs down his ass crack to drip down over his balls, slowly turning the protective covering underneath him damp.

Kris's hands are gentle and familiar; he can't feel them on his right ass cheek, but occasionally they brush over the left one, or the small of his back and the tops of his thighs. It might be the fact that Adam hasn't gotten laid in three months (Kris's fault, by the way) but Adam finds himself growing hard while Kris works, every slight brush against his skin sending pleasurable skitters up his spine.

It's embarrassing and yet another sign that the universe's plan for him is flawed, but maybe he was supposed to meet Kris here tonight. Maybe there actually is a thread running through the events of the past months, aiming to get him here, ass-up on a hospital gurney with an ass full of glass and Kris's gentle hands touching him.

"I didn't sleep with Brad," Adam says. His words end up muffled by his arm, but the sudden pinch at the back of his thigh and Kris's muffled curse tells him Kris heard him just fine. "I mean… I was going to… but in the end I just couldn't."

That night does not count as one of Adam's proudest moments and it doesn't help that Brad now insists that Adam owes him a hooker because that only makes sense in Brad's brain. Kris doesn't say anything for a while, and then he suddenly bursts out laughing. It sounds odd and Adam has to turn his head to realize it's because Kris is wearing a mask. (He's also wearing a little green bonnet and surgical gloves smeared with enough blood to make Adam nauseous.)

"I'm sorry," Kris says, attempting to get his giggles under control. "It's just… did you read your horoscope this morning?"

"No," Adam admits, burying his face back into his arm. (All that blood…)

"It said something like… _Be careful today or you'll end up exposed in ways you never even imagined_ and it's just…"

Kris breaks into helpless laughter again and this time Adam joins him, because it _is_ funny (despite the blood). It takes Adam a few moments to get himself under enough control to ask the obvious question.

"You still read my horoscope?"

There's something stirring in his chest that feels a lot like hope and he tries to squish it down, but he's pretty sure he doesn't succeed very well. Kris doesn't believe in astrology; before he met Adam he never read the horoscopes at all.

"I… uh…" Kris pours some more of the cold fluid over Adam's ass. "Habit, you know?"

"So what did yours say?"

"Uhm… _Now is the time to be honest about something that has caused you troubles in the past._ "

"And Cancer?"

" _A… uhm… chance encounter with an old acquaintance might lead to the new beginning you've been craving._ "

Kris's voice tapers off at the end and Adam has to strain himself to even hear him. It's easy to imagine the hectic flush covering Kris's cheeks behind the mask and when Kris's gloved hand brushes against his skin he thinks he can feel it trembling.

"I uh… I'm going to clean you now and then the doctor will be back to stitch you up, okay?"

"Okay."

Something like disappointment settles in Adam's gut and he pushes his face further into the crook of his arm. He can hear Kris banging around again and the telltale snap that means he's changing gloves. The smell of disinfectant lingers in the air for a moment and Adam squeezes his eyes tightly shut.

Two weeks after Kris left, Adam's new roommate brought a bottle of the stuff home and every time he used it Adam found himself growing hard. At first he thought it was some kind of kink that he never discovered before, or possibly a hidden attraction towards pasty white and chunky. Then he realized that the smell reminded him of Kris fresh out of work and the rommate and his bottle were out on their ass two days later.

Adam twitches when Kris runs something cold and wet over his ass, but he soon grows used to the touch. Kris takes his time, gently brushing the cloth or whatever it is over Adam's skin. Adam stiffens (in more ways than one) when the cloth dips in between his ass cheeks and then further down in between his parted legs.

"Sorry," Kris murmurs, putting his free hand on the small of Adam's back. "You're kind of a mess."

"Tell me about it," Adam mutters.

Kris chuckles, gently smoothing his hand over Adam's back. "I uh… I get off my shift in forty-five minutes… In case you need a ride, or something."

"I… That would be great."

"Cool." Kris swipes the cloth over Adam's skin one last time, before removing his hands altogether. "If you're done before me just wait for me in the cafeteria, okay?"

"Okay."

*

  
Forty minutes later Adam orders a cup of coffee and a sandwich from the hospital cafeteria. The coffee is stale and too bitter and the sandwich drying at the edges, but he still forces it past the lump in his throat. He hasn't eaten since lunch and that was too many hours ago.

He feels conspicuous in the hospital issue pajama pants tied to his hips and the white v-neck t-shirt they managed to procure for him to wear. His own clothes are stuffed into a plastic bag at his feet and he doesn't think he's imagining the slight odor of dumpster wafting out of it. There's probably no saving his favorite too expensive jeans and he's trying very hard to ignore that fact, or he's pretty sure he'll cry.

So far he's been in a weird kind of daze, shock he assumes, and it's only just now under the unforgiving fluorescent lights of the near-empty cafeteria that the events of the night finally catch up with him. Someone waved a gun in his face, a real gun. He doesn't know if it was loaded, or if the guy was actually ready to use it, but he's pretty sure that the cold glint of steel and the crazy tint to the perpetrator's eyes will be haunting his dreams for months.

"I could have died," he murmurs to his coffee cup and when he tries to lift it to his mouth his hands are trembling so badly he has to put it down again. He knots his hands around the cup, hoping that some of the warmth will seep into his fingers and focuses on just breathing. He's nauseous and cold, and his knees feel weak but he doesn't dare to sit down, mindful of the stitches.

Someone touches his shoulder and he startles wildly, spilling coffee all over his hands and the table, and sucking in a terrified breath.

"Hey," Kris says clamly, reaching past Adam to pry the cup from his fingers. "It's just me."

Kris looks like a revelation, in his grey jeans and tight t-shirt with his brown hair tousled just so. He's like an embodiment of all things good and pure and beautiful in the world and Adam isn't even ashamed of the way he turns into Kris's gentle touch, bending down to bury his face against Kris's neck.

"It's okay now," Kris murmurs, smoothing his hands down Adam's back. "I'm here."

Kris smells like shower gel and disinfectant and it's so familiar it makes Adam's heart ache. Somewhere along the way he stopped being angry with Kris and just started missing him. He thinks it was easier when he was angry.

"Don't coddle me," Adam grumbles when he manages to collect some of his scrambled equilibrium.

"It would have been a lot more believable if you hadn't waited ten minutes to say it," Kris responds, pushing Adam away minutely to look at him.

Kris smiles, brushing Adam's hair back from his face. "Your eyeliner's smudged," he says, wiping the pad of his thumb underneath Adam's eye.

Adam thinks smudged eyeliner is probably the least of his problems. He has a sneaking suspicion that the pajama pants are at least partly see through and getting arrested for public indecency would just be a perfect way to end a day that started with oversleeping and most recently included twenty-five stitches in his ass. Besides, having Kris touch him in that determined focused way of his (that he applies to all areas of life) is making him react in ways that threadbare light blue cotton really does nothing to hide.

"Stop it," he mutters, pulling away from Kris's touch. "You're not my mom."

Kris's eyes narrow. "Excuse me for trying to be nice," he says.

Adam opens his mouth to protest, but clamps it shut again. He doesn't want to argue with Kris anymore.

"It's the pants, okay?" he mutters. "They don't leave a lot to the imagination."

Kris's eyes slide down between them. "Oh," he says. Then he frowns. "Really?"

Adam flushes and carefully averts his eyes from Kris's face. "It's been a while, okay?"

Kris doesn't answer, but he bends down to pick up Adam's bag with a pleased smile. "Come on," he says. "My car's in the garage."

*

  
The garage gives Adam heart palpitations. It's dark, deserted and smells like exhaust fumes. Kris doesn't comment on the way Adam more or less plasters up against him, eyes twitching from side to side nervously, but he does put a hand against the small of Adam's back. Adam resists the urge to pull away from the touch, because Kris's presence _is_ comforting and it works wonders to soothe the irrational part of his brain that is murmuring dark things about guns and crazy people.

Kris's car is parked close to the exit, a beat up Ford Escort that saw its best days ten years ago, and with some struggle Adam manages to get himself into the passenger seat without jostling his stitches too much. Kris hides a smile at Adam's awkward sitting position, but he thankfully refrains from comment. Adam's already had enough embarrassment today to last a lifetime.

"You still live in the same place?" Kris asks, as he starts the car.

"Yeah," Adam answers, looking anywhere but Kris's profile. He's not looking forward to being alone again. Sure, there's his current rommate, a bottle-blonde sorority girl with maybe enough brain capacity to perform rudimentary tasks such as getting dressed (Adam's skeptical considering the sparseness of her usual wardrobe), but he's not really feeling up to regaling Mia and however many of her friends are around with his tales of woe at the hands of a robber.

"You could… uh… stay with me," Kris says, his eyes firmly trained on the road. "Just for the night I mean. If you don't want to be alone."

Adam clamps down on his immediate urge to state he can take care of himself, because he really doesn't want to be alone, and spending time with Kris is wildly superior to spending time with Mia.

"Thanks," Adam says. "That would be nice."

A smile ghosts over Kris's lips and he adjusts his hands on the wheel. Adam looks at his strong fingers, remembering what it felt like to have them on his skin, and has to avert his eyes to keep from popping another boner. It must be the shock that has him reacting to Kris in such a visceral way. Adam might have a healthy sexual appetite, but he's not some crazed horn dog that can't even interact with another man without having impure thoughts.

*

  
It turns out Kris's new apartment is in a bad part of town, at least bad enough to have Adam expecting robbers, murderers and rapists jumping out from every shadow. He only just barely manages to clamp down on his shriek when an old man with a dog comes out from between two buildings, and Kris's hand looping warm and sure around his doesn't really help.

"I can't believe you live here now," Adam says, when Kris lets him into a rundown apartment building. The stairwell smells like cabbage and only half the lights are working.

"There wasn't that much available on such short notice," Kris says tightly.

Adam has a brilliant retort on the tip of his tongue about how maybe moving wouldn't have been necessary if some people had just been a little more honest, but somehow he manages to swallow it back.

"I wouldn't have put you out on your ass," he mutters instead. "You were the one that left."

"Packing up my bags and getting the hell out of Dodge seemed like a much better option than listening to you getting down and dirty with Brad," Kris answers curtly.

"I didn't…"

"Yeah, I know that _now_ ," Kris says. "You could have sent me a text or something. Would have saved me a lot of sleepless nights."

He stops outside a scratched door with Allen on the mail slot, and unlocks it with an impressive number of keys. The wood of the door frame is chipped by the lock, to Adam's inexpert eyes it looks a whole lot like someone tried to force the door open with a crowbar.

"Seriously?" he asks, touching his fingers to the splintered wood. "Are you kidding me?"

"It happened before I moved in, okay?" Kris says, more or less pushing Adam inside. "No one's tried to assault me."

"Yet," Adam says darkly.

"Oh hey, Mr. Fancy WeHo Apartment, I wasn't the one that was held up at gunpoint, okay?"

Adam gives Kris a dark look and moves further into the apartment. That was just what he wanted to be reminded of right now.

"Welcome to my humble abode," Kris says, turning on the seriously unflattering overhead light.

"Humble sounds about right," Adam answers, looking around.

The wallpaper is an unpleasant shade of salmon, chipped and peeling in places, and there are scorch marks on the uninspiring grey floor. The furniture consists of a bed, an old fashioned arm chair, a low table and a rickety dresser against the wall, practically groaning under the weight of a tiny TV. There's a shadowed doorway to the right that Adam assumes leads to the kitchen, and a faded rug underneath the arm chair and table that Adam thinks probably covers up even more damage to the floor.

The blue curtains pulled over the lone window clash wildly with the salmon wallpaper and the only decoration on the otherwise bare walls is a Michael Jackson tour poster. The odd placement leads Adam to believe it's covering up a hole in the wall, or some unspeakable damage made to the wallpaper.

"Look Kris…" he starts, but Kris interrupts him.

"I'm not moving back in with you."

Adam spins around to look at him, nearly tripping on the stupid rug. Kris's face is a pleasing shade of crimson and he scrubs a hand through his hair.

"I mean… even if we…." He trails off, blushing even darker. "Shit."

Adam's pretty sure he's heard Kris swear more today than during the entirety of their relationship; he's not usually one to curse.

"Oh God," Kris groans. "I'm doing this all wrong."

If success was measured in the pressing need of any onlookers to kiss the subject in question Adam would say Kris is doing pretty well.

"Okay, okay." Kris holds up a hand. "I can do this."

Adam waits.

"I'm sorry."

Adam waits some more, but nothing seems to be forthcoming. "That's all?" he asks.

"I know I should have told you and I _was_ going to but things were going so well and I guess… I just didn't want to lose you." Kris scrunches up his face and scrubs a hand through his hair again, messing it up even further. "Do you remember the first day we met?"

"I'm not senile," Adam answers. He's pretty sure he's never going to forget the first time they met, he'll be old and grey and gone in a home somewhere, but he'll still remember the wide-eyed Arkansas boy showing up on his doorstep with a beat up guitar case and a bag way too small to contain his entire life.

"You asked me if I was running away from something," Kris says. "And I was going to answer, I really was, but then I looked at you, really looked at you, and I just… couldn't. I wanted to be someone else for you, someone that…" He bites down on his lip and shakes his head. "I'm not even making sense."

Adam thinks he makes perfect sense, because he felt it too. Adam believes in destiny and that evening with Kris staring into his eyes, earnest and nervous, will always be etched into his memory as a turning point. There was a choice there, a crossroad, and though Adam could tell, even then, that Kris wasn't telling him the whole truth, he never once doubted his decision to turn onto the road that led to Kris. He still doesn't regret it, even with everything that happened, because seeing Kris again he realizes that there's still nowhere he'd rather be than right next to Kris.

"I get it," Adam says, taking a few steps towards Kris. "I do."

"I had a plan," Kris says, almost desperately. "I was gonna go to one of your shows and I was gonna bring flowers and then I'd deliver this brilliant speech that would make you fall into my arms and everything was going to be amazing."

"What kind of flowers?" Adam asks, taking a step closer and crowding Kris up against the wall.

"I… uh… roses?"

Adam likes roses, that's true. He presses his hands flat against the wall on either side of Kris's head. "And what would that brilliant speech of yours say?"

"Pretty much what I just said, but… uhm… a lot more brilliant."

Adam's had a crappy day, his ass is sore and his head aches, and he's pretty sure there's no saving his favorite jeans, but looking down into Kris's eyes none of that even matters.

"Just one more question," he murmurs, bending down so that his words brush over Kris's lips. "Are you still married?"

"No," Kris whispers, his eyes fluttering shut.

Adam smiles and seals their mouths together. Kris's lips part easily under Adam's and he lets his tongue slide into Kris's mouth, tasting him the way he's only been dreaming about for months. It's soft and gentle, almost hesitant, and when he pulls away Kris follows him, straining to keep their mouths connected.

Adam gives in, kissing Kris again, and again, until the skitter of a spider running over the back of his hand makes him take a step back shaking it off with a shudder.

"I hate this place," he says petulantly."And I don't care if I have to put you up in a hotel, you're not spending another day here."

Kris laughs and pushes away from the wall. "It's not that bad," he says, looping his arms loosely around Adam's back.

Adam gives him his best _oh really?_ face and Kris laughs again, shaking his head. "Come on," he says instead, tugging lightly at Adam's waist. "Let's get you to bed."

"What?" Adam pouts. "No reunion sex?"

"With that ass?" Kris's eyebrows shoot for his hairline. "I think not."

Adam suddenly remembers why having a relationship with an ER nurse sucks. There are all these stupid rules like no sex with the flu and no sex with a possible concussion.

"But…" he starts, but Kris interrupts him.

"Exactly."

Adam pouts (and not only because of the terrible pun).

"You can borrow my toothbrush," Kris offers.

Adam pouts some more.

"And my night cream."

Adam considers this. "You have a night cream?"

Kris flushes. "Well, _someone_ spent a lot of time teaching me the importance of proper skincare."

Adam pouts a little bit more just because he can.

"We can spoon."

Adam stops pouting.

"In a non-sexual way."

Adam pouts again. Kris laughs and pushes himself up on his tippy toes to kiss Adam's pouted lips.

"I just don't want you to pull your stitches the first thing you do," he says, giving Adam another kiss. "There's enough risk of an infection as it is."

"I can keep still," Adam mutters, pulling Kris closer.

"I have slept with you before, you know."

Adam sighs dramatically and lets Kris go so abruptly he almost topples over. "So tell me, do I really want to see the bathroom?"

"Probably not," Kris admits. "But the door's in the hall. Knock yourself out."

Adam feels that the bathroom summarizes the tragedy of Kris's apartment nicely. The sink is cracked, the toilet clangs and gurgles, and there is maybe one undamaged tile in the entire room. Kris's night cream is however the same brand Adam uses and he feels a whole lot better after brushing his teeth. He will probably have to talk skincare with Kris again though, because their skin types are vastly different; Kris shouldn't be using Adam's brand.

Kris is sitting on the edge of the bed when Adam comes back into the room. He gets up with a yawn when he sees Adam.

"All yours," he says, gesturing at the bed.

Adam sincerely doubts that, but he resists the urge to scan the sheets for lice and roaches, at least while Kris is still in the room. As soon as Kris disappears into the bathroom though, he does a quick check of the sheets. They're threadbare and worn, but clean and hopefully lice-free. He slips his shirt over his head and hangs it on the back of the armchair, before rolling into bed with a move that he's very grateful Kris isn't around to witness.

When Kris comes out of the bathroom Adam lays spread-eagled over the bed, wondering if Kris's apartment comes with something as modern and hi-tech as A/C. He doubts it. Kris glances at the bed and then looks back again with a groan.

"Do you have to wear those pants?" he asks.

Adam blinks. "Would you rather I be naked? Because that can be arranged." He slides his thumbs in under the waistband.

"I hate you," Kris says, pulling his t-shirt over his head. "Those pants are indecent."

Adam lifts his head to look down on himself. Sure, the cotton is threadbare and they frame his cock pretty nicely, but the only indecency is clearly towards fashion. Kris just looks at him sourly and wriggles out of his jeans, hanging them over Adam's shirt on the armchair.

Adam pushes himself up on his elbows to fully appreciate the sight of Kris in just a pair of white boxer briefs, wide shoulders, tiny waist, amazing pecs, and an ass that Adam can't imagine ever not wanting to touch (fuck, lick, nibble).

"You can look all you want," Kris says ominously and then he flips the light switch, plunging the room into darkness.

"Hey," Adam says, flopping back down on the bed with an exaggerated sigh. He was enjoying the view and now he can barely make Kris out as a blurry shape against the wall.

Kris laughs and moments later the bed dips with his weight as he crawls onto it.

"Hey," he says when he's managed to crawl all the way into Adam's arms, their faces so close that Kris's minty breath fans over Adam's lips.

"Hey," Adam responds, pushing himself up to give Kris a kiss.

Kris sighs against his lips, easily falling into the kiss, and Adam remembers why being with Kris outranks being with anyone else. They kiss until Adam's lips feel numb and breathing becomes a serious problem. Slow, slick slides of lips and tongues, soft moans and panted breaths lost to the darkness as they struggle for more, deeper, harder.

"Fuck," Kris pants when they finally break apart, pushing his face into the crook of Adam's neck.

"That would be nice," Adam says wistfully, sliding his hand down to rest over the swell of Kris's ass.

Kris chuckles and pushes himself up with his elbows on Adam's chest. It's not the most comfortable position but Adam's eyes have become accustomed to the dark enough for him to make out Kris's smile.

"I just want us to do it right this time," Kris murmurs, bending down to give Adam a soft kiss. "We did everything ass backwards last time and I…" He licks his lips and turns his head away. "I kinda want this to last forever."

Adam's heart does a little skip trip thing that feels really weird but that makes his cheeks flush with heat and his stomach flutter.

"I really like the sound of that," he answers.

Maybe it's too soon to talk about forever, but Adam was thinking it three months ago when he picked up the phone and a soft confused female voice asked to talk to her husband and he was still thinking it eight hours later when the stumbled through the door drunk off his ass and caught in a lip-lock with Brad.

He is most definitely thinking it now with Kris wrapped all around him and twenty-five stitches in his ass. They're not done talking about what went wrong, maybe they won't be for a long time, but when Kris presses a soft kiss to his ear and settles in to sleep with something that sounds amazingly like a purr, Adam knows he won't let anything get in the way of happily ever after.

"I love you," he whispers into the darkness because it feels like the right thing to say.

"Mrgh," Kris answers.

Adam thinks that means _I love you too_.

The End

  
Thanks for reading! ♥ 


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